The Storm Rages
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: It's been fourteen long years since Kratos was separated from Anna. His heart and mind still cry out for his wife, but the rest of him has other ideas, as does Raine. But can he get over it? T for reasons. Not explicit. Unrequited pairing, in a sense. I do not own Tales of Symphonia or the cover art!


The teacher, Raine, a half-elf, intrigues him.

Rain, droplets falling thick and fast, like tears;

Rain, which nourishes or drowns the dry earth—

Her senses sharp, wit keen, her body lithe.

And while his eyes might wander as eyes do,

He overturns their verdict constantly.

He has been banished from earthly pleasures

For fourteen long, aching, conflicted years.

He would not hesitate were he himself,

But since his Anna died, he has not been:

That final night, Lloyd sleeping in his crib—

Her dark brown hair flowed softly as the bed,

Vivid green eyes flashing with molten flame;

A warm blush graced his wife's pale white cheeks,

Melodic laugh beckoning him forward…

And he does not want to dislodge the thoughts.

But it would be so wonderfully simple

To take upon his head just one more sin,

(What's one more to the thousand he has done?)

Inflict upon his heart the wrath it caused.

He knows the signs of Raine's own interest.

A lingering stare when she thinks he has turned,

Her heightened color when she speaks to him,

The way she fidgets slightly when he nears.

It would be harder than dying, by far,

To cast aside the memories like clothes:

The sweetness of Anna's mouth when they kissed,

The gentle embraces they shared each day,

The smoothness of her skin on his each night.

It would be easier than existing

To fall prey to enticing bitterness—

To taste the glory of indulgent sin

And succumb to a cruel, painful embrace,

And feel a rougher kind of desire.

His body aches with something more than lust,

Something more like anger, something savage.

Death fixed within his mind futility,

The way people come and go through his life—

So fleeting an existence; Anna's, too.

He turns over in bed; a sigh escapes,

Or perhaps more a sob of loneliness.

His son, Anna's living heir, is restored,

Stitched clumsily into the gaping hole

Which once composed his frigid, solemn heart.

Why must his hair resemble Anna's so?

Its darkness, like the fertile earth in spring—

No. He thinks instead of missions given him.

Soon enough, he must betray his son Lloyd,

And make him hate or murder his father—

The latter, he supposes, with some luck.

He sits up in bed, for someone is there,

Waiting outside the door with quiet feet,

Loath to knock and reluctant to enter.

He calls out cautiously, hand to his sword,

Always within reach, and ready to kill—

Raine gusts in on stormy gales quickly,

Mumbling incoherent explanations,

Asking for help and then… there's something more,

An undertone edging her voice with silver.

No fork in his path shows itself at this:

Only a single road stretches ahead,

White light pouring in torrents from the moon,

Which laughs at those considering it pure.

And he laughs as well, at his own conflict,

Watching her smile hesitantly back.

A charming smile, small and white and shy.

It melts his frozen heart enough to hurt.

He tells her he can't love her—one last chance.

She breathes awareness of the sentiment:

A business deal struck; she moves forward.

She guides his hand slowly up to her heart,

Letting the fluttering there speak for her:

They sit, a minute ticking slowly by,

Eyes closed, his hand resting over her chest.

As though another understanding comes

Through silence, their eyes open all at once,

And fire flashes momentarily:

Their eyes burn, scorching almost hatefully,

Raw passion wresting itself from their hearts—

Clumsy and ferocious and reckless.

They cling to one another only since

(He thinks to himself, vaguely sorrowful,

As his body acts of its will and hers)

The world teeters upon the edge of change

And this, the only common ground they have,

Establishes some sense of normalcy.

**((Yeah, I dunno. I just kind of ship this, I guess?**

**Sorry if the iambic pentameter isn't quite right!))**


End file.
